


still a criminal

by somethingdifferent



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/pseuds/somethingdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I made a point of being where decent human beings made a point of telling me that I should be.</em> Pieces of a conversation.</p>
<p>[petyr/sansa; criminals]</p>
            </blockquote>





	still a criminal

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this is my attempt at getting back into the swing of writing things. Hopefully I'm not too rusty. Enjoy!

_ Live free or die, said the orphan to the prince. _   
_ Live free or die, said the dying fire._   
_ Live free or die, said the parrot to the parrot,_   
_ and the scissor to the wing,  
and the wing to the scissor._

MOONFACE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When he turns nineteen, he learns a few things, in this order.

First: how to take a punch (provided there are no rings on the offending hand).

Second: how to take a punch (this time with rings).

Third: how to launder money.

Fourth: how to go about buying a gun.

Fifth: how blood smells once its dried. How it looks once its dried. How to get it out of clothing. How to get it out of concrete (not impossible, contrary to what he previously believed).

 

 

 

 

-

**6:14 PM**

-

 

 

 

 

"You're the same age that I was," he tells her.

She's crying, but she's always crying, and she'll have to work on that if she wants to make it past tonight. If she wants to _survive_. Petyr's fingers dig deeper into her jaw, twisting her head so that she's looking right at him. Those eyes. Blue as her mother's, only bigger, wider, gentler. Too gentle. "Look at me," he hisses, "look at me when I'm talking to you."

"I'm the same age that you were when what?" she manages between sobs.

His hand uncurls, and she stumbles back at the sudden release.

"When nothing." He closes his eyes, allowing himself a moment, opens them again. "Get in the car."

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

He's small, which is an advantage. People trust you faster if they don't consider you a threat, and he had always been so very good at gaining people's trust.

Their trust, he knows, but doesn't say, is a mistake.

People make so many mistakes.

 

 

 

 

-

**7:38 PM**

-

 

 

 

 

"Stop pretending."

He turns to look at her, where she's sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by pillows and blankets taken from the closet. Miss Stark, much too proper to share a bed with a man she hardly knows. She's stopped her pathetic whimpering at last, and she's looking at him with something of a hardened expression.

"Pretending what, darling?"

Her eyes flash; _good_ , he thinks, _that's very, very good_. "Pretending you're doing this for me. I know what you want, and you won't get it."

"And what is it," he murmurs slowly, and this is dangerous, talking to her about such things, but she's being so very intriguing, and he's been so very _bored_ , "that you think I want?"

A ghost of a smirk flickers across her face, and yes, she could be so very -

"Everything."

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

With his education, with what he can do, with what he knows, what he has on everyone in the city, he could easily leave the life. It wouldn't be so hard, creating a new identity, starting over somewhere else, clearing his tracks, wiping himself from the face of the earth. He has no friends or family to leave behind, no legacy he particularly cares about keeping alive.

Another man might take what he has made and use it to run, use it to make the life he always wanted.

Petyr never was one to do things the way other people did.

 

 

 

 

-

**9:54 PM**

-

 

 

 

 

"Where are we going tomorrow?"

Her voice is almost startling, as quiet as it is, coming, as it does, out of nowhere. Petyr glances up from his phone, lets it fall onto the bed even as the screen lights up.

"What makes you think _we're_ going anywhere? Maybe I'll leave you behind, let them find you."

She shakes her head, her hands curling around the edge of the porcelain bath. "You won't do that."

He narrows his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

She doesn't answer him, doesn't even react. She stares at him until, reflexively, his hand reaches again for his phone.

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

You start slow in a business like this. It's easy enough getting the pill supply and easy enough keeping that supply steady; you pay them off, and people will agree to almost anything. Adderall, percocets, and vicodin, first; only later did he start adding in the stronger stuff.

Like all things Petyr ever made, he built it from the ground up.

 

 

 

 

-

**12:00 AM**

-

 

 

 

 

"Wake up."

He blinks blearily, sitting up slowly as he regains awareness. That was a mistake, a foolish one, falling asleep. The girl, as sweet as she may look, is still an unknown variable, and, he's beginning to realize, not as harmless as she appears.

She's on the bed, pale legs tucked under her body, her knees touching his side.

"What is it?" he gets out, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day."

He almost laughs.

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

The barrel is digging into his chest when the gun goes off.

 

 

 

 

-

**1:37 AM**

-

 

 

 

 

"If I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?"

She's across the room, at the desk, picking at the scraps of food left on the room service platter.

He shakes his head. "I won't make that promise."

She hesitates, hedging her bets, asks, "Why did you help me?"

This time, it's Petyr who doesn't respond.

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

Twenty years after the fact, he still can't decide if he can, in good faith, call it love.

Three years after her death, he finds he can't remember her face.

All he can conjure up in his mind, he realizes one day, is her daughter - brighter, fairer, and entirely within his grasp, if only he can stretch his reach far enough.

 

 

 

 

-

**2:46 AM**

-

 

 

 

 

"Are you going to kill me?"

He furrows his brow. "If my plan was to kill you, then what would be the point of all of this?"

She is sprawled on the bed, and her eyes travel up to stare at him. Her voice is muffled, mouth pressed into the comforter, but he can still hear the tremor that runs through it as she speaks. "I mean when you're done with me."

It would be foolish to say anything to that, foolish to let her know anything at all, yet he hears himself muttering, "No."

Her hand runs along the sheets, the fabric rippling under her touch, until she reaches his wrist; her fingers close like a vice around it.

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

As with everything, it ends in blood.

It doesn't matters whose.

 

 

 

 

-

**3:23 AM**

-

 

 

 

 

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing too terrible, my dear," he says softly. She's migrated next to him on the bed, her red hair unnaturally vivid against the white pillowcase, her thin hands clenched into fists.

"That's a lie."

He reaches his hand out, taking her at the jaw, forcing her to look at him. She doesn't struggle this time, just gazes steadily at his eyes. It makes him want to turn his face, certain, for the briefest moment, that she can see right through him.

 

 

 

 

:

 

 

 

 

He should know better by now.

He was supposed to have learned his lesson twenty years ago.

 

 

 

 

-

**3:24 AM**

-

 

 

 

 

"Just tell me -"

"Stop talking," he interrupts, "One day, I'll -" And no, he won't promise her something he can't deliver.

He kisses her instead, feels how her breath is caught by his mouth, the way her body trembles as he grips her waist, and then it's over, she's pulling away from him, out of the bed, and the sheets are cold where she was a moment ago.

"Good night, Sansa," he manages to get out evenly enough. He clears his throat, blinking fast. "I'll wake you in the morning."

"Good night," she says, not looking at him, then adds quietly, "Petyr."

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
